Page 25 of Innocent Bratva Virgin

“Sure, just wait until I’m gone. You shouldn’t have your guard down if the Italians are still trying to track me down.”

“Ugh!” I threw up my hands, storming back over to the couch. “That’s such a typical guy move. It takes more than two glasses of wine to get me drunk, Vlad.”

But when I looked back at him, he just met my glare with an unimpressed expression. I was aware that he’d seen me pretty tipsy at the bar, and as much as I wanted to forget where that night ended, it was all I could think about now.

He gestured to the couch, encouraging me to have a seat.

“You’re incredibly bossy, you know that?” But I still wound up sitting. “How does someone even wind up working for the mob anyway? Were you like born into it or something?”

I didn’t like how unprofessional I sounded, but the truth was, I was tired. Today had been a lot emotionally—and physically—and it was so much harder to be that unassuming therapist right now. My nerves were frayed, and it was taking everything I had just to keep myself from having a total breakdown.

By the time I’d stopped contemplating how much I hated this, Vlad had typed another message.

“Sort of. My father knew some shady people back in Russia. When he died, my brother dragged the three of us to the States, and he hooked up with some of those shady people. We worked for them for a while, and eventually, my brothers and I became something more.”

Curiosity was part of the reason I’d become a counselor, and it was undoubtedly piqued after that.

“Your father passed away when you were young?” Vlad nodded. “Was that difficult? I can only imagine what losing a parent is like. Did it have anything to do with—”

Vlad held up a hand, scoffing through his nose. He started typing, and I just waited for him to finish. I knew that I’d slipped into therapist mode, and I could see from Vlad’s expression that he wasn’t a huge fan. Still, this was apparently the only time I was going to get to talk to the guy.

After all, he didn’t want to return for that other session. If I wanted to help Vlad, it looked like it was now or never.

“It’s the past, Emory. I don’t really like dwelling on that shit. Yeah, moving to a new country was a thing, but it’s done. Here we are. And I’m NOT getting into the talking thing.”

Vlad had put “not” in all caps in his message to emphasize his point. While I understood that dragging up things that you’d rather see buried wasn’t always fun, I also knew that shoving your emotions down—repressing them—fueled mental health issues like gasoline on a fire.

“Well, you should.” I just held his stare, the wine doing its thing and my tact level plummeting. “It doesn’t do you or anyone around you any good to be holding onto trauma. Which you clearly are. Your brother obviously cares about you enough to try to get you help. Maybe you should at least try it for a while as a thank you.”

Scoffing, Vlad’s eyebrows shot up. His lips parted just a hair, and if he were anyone else, I would have thought he was getting ready to chew me out. As it was, I knew that Vlad wasn’t about to yell at me, and even when I read his subsequent message, it didn’t read with the same bite as an angry text.

“A ‘thank you,’ huh? I’ll admit that would be a first for either of us. We’re not a touchy-feely kind of family.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion, the bit of wine, or the fact that clearly, the old tricks weren’t going to work with Vlad, but when my own dumb past bubbled up in my head, I decided to share.

What was there to lose? Vlad could either trust me and accept the help, or he could leave when he was able and never look back. In either case, I wouldn’t have to sit with potential regret for not having done my best.

“You know, families can kind of suck—even when they’re not affiliated with the mafia,” Vlad smirked, listening as I wenton. “My parents are both doctors, experts in their fields, but it didn’t stop them from being struck by illness. Not directly, of course, through me.”

I stopped looking at my impromptu guest, my eyes roaming over the seams in the couch as I remembered growing up. A fog of sorts settled over me, and I dictated what I saw in my mind’s eye with a sense of detachment, the years of my own therapy helping me to talk about it.

“I was sick a lot as a kid. I was in the hospital more often than not, actually. I was born with some genetic conditions that took extensive therapy and surgery to correct. I’m fine now. I just go in for more check-ups than other people, but so much of my youth was spent in a bed that I’ll never forget how much I missed. How lonely I felt most of the time.”

The room was silent. I’d told several people how much I hated my life as a kid and young teen. I’d even told my therapist during college that because I was so sick, I’d wanted to do everything to make my parents happy with me now.

I had just never told someone I’d slept with before.

“My parents have always expected a lot from me, and sometimes, I thought they may have been happier when I was sick. I sort of was. For as isolated as I felt, they didn’t push me as hard. When I got better, when it was safe to demand the most from me, my parents didn’t let up. I tried so hard to make them happy. I’m still trying, unfortunately, but…I’m getting better.

“It shouldn’t surprise you that I’ve talked to a therapist, too. It’s sort of a prerequisite for becoming one, but going had actually allowed me to see these things about myself and my life before I chose this career. I think talking to someone and experiencing how much it could help actually made me want to become a counselor.”

And that was it. Vlad raked his stare over me critically as if looking for any sign that I was being disingenuous or stretching the truth. I wasn’t, of course, so there was no deceit to find.

When I just pulled my knees up to my chest and sighed, Vlad went back to typing.

“I really do think I deserve another glass of wine, especially now.”

There was a slight noise at that, and when I looked over at Vlad, I had to assume it was a chuckle. It was so small and different, not a scoff or a one-off laugh. Something longer and more musical while still carrying zero hints at what his voice might sound like.

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